doll

writing sometimes because murdering men is a crime.

[d0llskisses]

22 year old. she/her. infj

welcome to my doll house. you are safe here. you can rest your mind and relax, just lay down and enjoy your stay. and when you leave, please stay safe out there. i love you.

ཀ this blog contains nsfw content minors please do not interact and do not follow. i won’t be writing extremely graphic, non-con, gore themes.

ཀ i mostly write for jjk. please do not copy my works or feed into ai.

main @alexynthia

masterlist

[d0llskisses]

I just realized youre another infj

OMG twin?!???!!! I’m hiding you in my pocket now

[d0llskisses]

Gojo Satoru.5 more minutes

He sleeps so well in your arms that he even snores a little. But he doesn’t believe that.

Satoru couldn't remember the last time he had truly melted into unconsciousness like this. Usually, sleep for him was a shallow necessity, often interrupted by the weight of being the world’s strongest. But last night had caused an anomaly. The friction, the heat, and the desperate sex you two had acted as an anchor, dragging him down from his lonely pedestal into a state of pure exhaustion.

He was dead to the world, buried beneath a heavy duvet and the even heavier comfort of your warmth.

He was currently a dead weight against you. His head was nestled comfortably on your chest, his face pressed so close that with every rise of your breath, your nipple grazed his upper lip and the dip of his cupid’s bow, a ticklish reminder of the skin to skin contact he craved. He looked less like the strongest sorcerer and more like a fallen angel, vulnerable and warm.

Then you woke up to a sound that felt entirely out of place for a man of his stature. It was a soft snore. It wasn't the roaring kind of a snore but a consistent, buzzy little sound that vibrated against your skin. You couldn't help the quiet laughter that shook your chest, your fingers instinctively finding their way into his soft snowy hair. He didn't even flinch; he was gone to the world.

When the morning light finally filtered through the blinds, Satoru began the agonizingly slow process of returning to consciousness.

He let out a muffled groan against your skin. The sound was like a kittenish protest against the concept of consciousness. His throat felt like a desert; his mouth had been hanging slightly open for hours, drying out his lips. He tried to blink, but his eyes felt heavy, weighted down and stinging by the depth of his slumber. With a groan, he finally peeled his face away from the warmth of your breast. He propped himself up on one shaky elbow.

The sight was comical. The cheek that had been pressed against your breast was a vivid, healthy pink. His hair was a literal bird’s nest, sticking up at impossible angles. He looked less like a god and more like a very large, very confused white cat. He looked so soft and pouty.

He was so beautiful.

"God," he rasped. His morning voice made you feel a tingling sensation in your chest. He rubbed a palm over his face, looking like a teenager who had slept through three alarms. "I don't... I don't think I’ve ever slept like that. I feel like I was in the clouds. Best sleep of my entire life, seriously. You’re like a human sedative, babe."

He leaned back in, intending to nuzzle into the crook of your neck to reclaim his warmth, but you let out a dramatic, weary sigh.

"I’m glad one of us got some rest," you teased, your voice dripping with fake exhaustion.

Satoru paused, his nose hovering just above your collarbone. He pulled back just an inch, one eye squinting open to look at you with confusion. "What’s that supposed to mean? You were out like a light when I checked…” Then a smug, sleepy smirk formed on his lips. “Was I... too much for you last night?"

"No," you lied smoothly, stroking his cheek. "You started a symphony. Honestly, Satoru, I didn't know someone could make that much noise through their nose. It was like sleeping next to a chainsaw."

Silence fell over the room. Satoru sat up fully, the sheet pooling at his waist, exposing his broad, naked chest. He stared at you, his brain trying to process the blow to his ego. He, the god of the jujutsu sorcery, was accused of something as mundane and un-sexy as snoring.

Silence stretched between you. He stared at you, his expression blank, processing the accusation as if you’d just told him the sky was neon green.

"You're lying," he murmured flatly, though there was a hint of a pout forming.

"No, I'm not. You were really snoring, baby." You giggled.

"Nah," he waved a hand dismissively, falling back onto the pillows with a dramatic thump and pulling you close to him. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin. "That’s a total lie. Satoru Gojo does not snore. I’m far too elegant for that. You’re just trying to humble me because I was soooo good last night."

"Believe what you want," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his broad, warm shoulders. "But my ears are still ringing."

He grumbled something under his breath about "getting a recording next time," but as he settled back into the crook of your shoulder, his pride was clearly losing the battle against his need for more cuddles. His face found its home back in the soft valley of your chest, his nose nuzzling against your skin as he let out a long, shaky sigh of pure contentment. You were his anchor, his heated blanket, and his favorite place in the world all rolled into one.

"Satoru," you murmured as you combed your fingers through his hair, occasionally pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "Come on, giant baby. You actually have places to be today. You need to get up."

A low protesting groan rumbled. "No," he muffled into your skin. “I’ve been struck by a curse that makes my limbs weigh ten tons. The only way to survive is to stay right here."

"I'm serious," you laughed, feeling his lips trail a lazy path along your breasts. "The strongest can't be defeated by a duvet."

"Watch me," he countered, his grip tightening.

He was being slick, using his sheer size to pin you down in a way that made it impossible for you to move without dragging him with you. He shifted his head just enough to peek up at you.

"Tell you what," his voice dropping into a velvety, manipulative purr. "Since you’re so convinced I’m some kind of... chainsaw in my sleep. I’m going to give you a golden opportunity. A scientific study, if you will."

He closed his eyes again, his cheek squishing against your breast as he exhaled a puff of warm air.

"If I’m really snoring, you can record me. It’ll probably just prove that you’re delusional and that I sleep like a silent, graceful angel... but let’s test that theory again, yeah? For science."

He let out a long, dramatic sigh of contentment, nuzzling even deeper into your chest, trying to merge his dna with yours.

"Five more minutes," he added, though it sounded more like a prayer than a promise. "And if I don't snore, you owe me a very thorough apology for slandering my good name. Maybe one involving this lying mouth of yours..."

His voice trailed off into a soft exhale, his grip on you tightening just for a second as he drifted back into the hazy dreamscape where the only thing that mattered was the woman in his arms.

You watched him for a moment, the way he looked younger, softer, and entirely human. Despite the teasing, you knew the truth: the weight of the world usually rested on his shoulders and his brain never truly stopped processing the infinite amount of information. For him to fall this deeply into the eepy abyss wasn't just a luxury; it was a rare, hard won necessity.

You let out a soft, defeated sigh, your heart swelling with protectiveness that outweighed your desire to be punctual. You weren't going to reach for your phone to record him. You weren't going to nudge him again.

Instead, you adjusted the duvet, pulling it higher around his bare shoulders to seal in the heat.

You shifted your head, resting your nose against his hairline and breathing in the scent of him. You closed your eyes and drifted back into sleep.

This time, he slept like a silent, graceful angel in your arms.

I think I might be obsessed about him getting a proper sleep because I can’t… I’m currently stuck in a migraine loop because of insomnia. He needs to sleep I need to sleep and I hope you’re getting enough sleep my dear reader<3

[d0llskisses]

Gojo Satoru.5 more minutes

He sleeps so well in your arms that he even snores a little. But he doesn’t believe that.

Satoru couldn't remember the last time he had truly melted into unconsciousness like this. Usually, sleep for him was a shallow necessity, often interrupted by the weight of being the world’s strongest. But last night had caused an anomaly. The friction, the heat, and the desperate sex you two had acted as an anchor, dragging him down from his lonely pedestal into a state of pure exhaustion.

He was dead to the world, buried beneath a heavy duvet and the even heavier comfort of your warmth.

He was currently a dead weight against you. His head was nestled comfortably on your chest, his face pressed so close that with every rise of your breath, your nipple grazed his upper lip and the dip of his cupid’s bow, a ticklish reminder of the skin to skin contact he craved. He looked less like the strongest sorcerer and more like a fallen angel, vulnerable and warm.

Then you woke up to a sound that felt entirely out of place for a man of his stature. It was a soft snore. It wasn't the roaring kind of a snore but a consistent, buzzy little sound that vibrated against your skin. You couldn't help the quiet laughter that shook your chest, your fingers instinctively finding their way into his soft snowy hair. He didn't even flinch; he was gone to the world.

When the morning light finally filtered through the blinds, Satoru began the agonizingly slow process of returning to consciousness.

He let out a muffled groan against your skin. The sound was like a kittenish protest against the concept of consciousness. His throat felt like a desert; his mouth had been hanging slightly open for hours, drying out his lips. He tried to blink, but his eyes felt heavy, weighted down and stinging by the depth of his slumber. With a groan, he finally peeled his face away from the warmth of your breast. He propped himself up on one shaky elbow.

The sight was comical. The cheek that had been pressed against your breast was a vivid, healthy pink. His hair was a literal bird’s nest, sticking up at impossible angles. He looked less like a god and more like a very large, very confused white cat. He looked so soft and pouty.

He was so beautiful.

"God," he rasped. His morning voice made you feel a tingling sensation in your chest. He rubbed a palm over his face, looking like a teenager who had slept through three alarms. "I don't... I don't think I’ve ever slept like that. I feel like I was in the clouds. Best sleep of my entire life, seriously. You’re like a human sedative, babe."

He leaned back in, intending to nuzzle into the crook of your neck to reclaim his warmth, but you let out a dramatic, weary sigh.

"I’m glad one of us got some rest," you teased, your voice dripping with fake exhaustion.

Satoru paused, his nose hovering just above your collarbone. He pulled back just an inch, one eye squinting open to look at you with confusion. "What’s that supposed to mean? You were out like a light when I checked…” Then a smug, sleepy smirk formed on his lips. “Was I... too much for you last night?"

"No," you lied smoothly, stroking his cheek. "You started a symphony. Honestly, Satoru, I didn't know someone could make that much noise through their nose. It was like sleeping next to a chainsaw."

Silence fell over the room. Satoru sat up fully, the sheet pooling at his waist, exposing his broad, naked chest. He stared at you, his brain trying to process the blow to his ego. He, the god of the jujutsu sorcery, was accused of something as mundane and un-sexy as snoring.

Silence stretched between you. He stared at you, his expression blank, processing the accusation as if you’d just told him the sky was neon green.

"You're lying," he murmured flatly, though there was a hint of a pout forming.

"No, I'm not. You were really snoring, baby." You giggled.

"Nah," he waved a hand dismissively, falling back onto the pillows with a dramatic thump and pulling you close to him. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin. "That’s a total lie. Satoru Gojo does not snore. I’m far too elegant for that. You’re just trying to humble me because I was soooo good last night."

"Believe what you want," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his broad, warm shoulders. "But my ears are still ringing."

He grumbled something under his breath about "getting a recording next time," but as he settled back into the crook of your shoulder, his pride was clearly losing the battle against his need for more cuddles. His face found its home back in the soft valley of your chest, his nose nuzzling against your skin as he let out a long, shaky sigh of pure contentment. You were his anchor, his heated blanket, and his favorite place in the world all rolled into one.

"Satoru," you murmured as you combed your fingers through his hair, occasionally pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "Come on, giant baby. You actually have places to be today. You need to get up."

A low protesting groan rumbled. "No," he muffled into your skin. “I’ve been struck by a curse that makes my limbs weigh ten tons. The only way to survive is to stay right here."

"I'm serious," you laughed, feeling his lips trail a lazy path along your breasts. "The strongest can't be defeated by a duvet."

"Watch me," he countered, his grip tightening.

He was being slick, using his sheer size to pin you down in a way that made it impossible for you to move without dragging him with you. He shifted his head just enough to peek up at you.

"Tell you what," his voice dropping into a velvety, manipulative purr. "Since you’re so convinced I’m some kind of... chainsaw in my sleep. I’m going to give you a golden opportunity. A scientific study, if you will."

He closed his eyes again, his cheek squishing against your breast as he exhaled a puff of warm air.

"If I’m really snoring, you can record me. It’ll probably just prove that you’re delusional and that I sleep like a silent, graceful angel... but let’s test that theory again, yeah? For science."

He let out a long, dramatic sigh of contentment, nuzzling even deeper into your chest, trying to merge his dna with yours.

"Five more minutes," he added, though it sounded more like a prayer than a promise. "And if I don't snore, you owe me a very thorough apology for slandering my good name. Maybe one involving this lying mouth of yours..."

His voice trailed off into a soft exhale, his grip on you tightening just for a second as he drifted back into the hazy dreamscape where the only thing that mattered was the woman in his arms.

You watched him for a moment, the way he looked younger, softer, and entirely human. Despite the teasing, you knew the truth: the weight of the world usually rested on his shoulders and his brain never truly stopped processing the infinite amount of information. For him to fall this deeply into the eepy abyss wasn't just a luxury; it was a rare, hard won necessity.

You let out a soft, defeated sigh, your heart swelling with protectiveness that outweighed your desire to be punctual. You weren't going to reach for your phone to record him. You weren't going to nudge him again.

Instead, you adjusted the duvet, pulling it higher around his bare shoulders to seal in the heat.

You shifted your head, resting your nose against his hairline and breathing in the scent of him. You closed your eyes and drifted back into sleep.

This time, he slept like a silent, graceful angel in your arms.

I think I might be obsessed about him getting a proper sleep because I can’t… I’m currently stuck in a migraine loop because of insomnia. He needs to sleep I need to sleep and I hope you’re getting enough sleep my dear reader<3

[d0llskisses]

Gojo Satoru.5 more minutes

He sleeps so well in your arms that he even snores a little. But he doesn’t believe that.

Satoru couldn't remember the last time he had truly melted into unconsciousness like this. Usually, sleep for him was a shallow necessity, often interrupted by the weight of being the world’s strongest. But last night had caused an anomaly. The friction, the heat, and the desperate sex you two had acted as an anchor, dragging him down from his lonely pedestal into a state of pure exhaustion.

He was dead to the world, buried beneath a heavy duvet and the even heavier comfort of your warmth.

He was currently a dead weight against you. His head was nestled comfortably on your chest, his face pressed so close that with every rise of your breath, your nipple grazed his upper lip and the dip of his cupid’s bow, a ticklish reminder of the skin to skin contact he craved. He looked less like the strongest sorcerer and more like a fallen angel, vulnerable and warm.

Then you woke up to a sound that felt entirely out of place for a man of his stature. It was a soft snore. It wasn't the roaring kind of a snore but a consistent, buzzy little sound that vibrated against your skin. You couldn't help the quiet laughter that shook your chest, your fingers instinctively finding their way into his soft snowy hair. He didn't even flinch; he was gone to the world.

When the morning light finally filtered through the blinds, Satoru began the agonizingly slow process of returning to consciousness.

He let out a muffled groan against your skin. The sound was like a kittenish protest against the concept of consciousness. His throat felt like a desert; his mouth had been hanging slightly open for hours, drying out his lips. He tried to blink, but his eyes felt heavy, weighted down and stinging by the depth of his slumber. With a groan, he finally peeled his face away from the warmth of your breast. He propped himself up on one shaky elbow.

The sight was comical. The cheek that had been pressed against your breast was a vivid, healthy pink. His hair was a literal bird’s nest, sticking up at impossible angles. He looked less like a god and more like a very large, very confused white cat. He looked so soft and pouty.

He was so beautiful.

"God," he rasped. His morning voice made you feel a tingling sensation in your chest. He rubbed a palm over his face, looking like a teenager who had slept through three alarms. "I don't... I don't think I’ve ever slept like that. I feel like I was in the clouds. Best sleep of my entire life, seriously. You’re like a human sedative, babe."

He leaned back in, intending to nuzzle into the crook of your neck to reclaim his warmth, but you let out a dramatic, weary sigh.

"I’m glad one of us got some rest," you teased, your voice dripping with fake exhaustion.

Satoru paused, his nose hovering just above your collarbone. He pulled back just an inch, one eye squinting open to look at you with confusion. "What’s that supposed to mean? You were out like a light when I checked…” Then a smug, sleepy smirk formed on his lips. “Was I... too much for you last night?"

"No," you lied smoothly, stroking his cheek. "You started a symphony. Honestly, Satoru, I didn't know someone could make that much noise through their nose. It was like sleeping next to a chainsaw."

Silence fell over the room. Satoru sat up fully, the sheet pooling at his waist, exposing his broad, naked chest. He stared at you, his brain trying to process the blow to his ego. He, the god of the jujutsu sorcery, was accused of something as mundane and un-sexy as snoring.

Silence stretched between you. He stared at you, his expression blank, processing the accusation as if you’d just told him the sky was neon green.

"You're lying," he murmured flatly, though there was a hint of a pout forming.

"No, I'm not. You were really snoring, baby." You giggled.

"Nah," he waved a hand dismissively, falling back onto the pillows with a dramatic thump and pulling you close to him. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin. "That’s a total lie. Satoru Gojo does not snore. I’m far too elegant for that. You’re just trying to humble me because I was soooo good last night."

"Believe what you want," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his broad, warm shoulders. "But my ears are still ringing."

He grumbled something under his breath about "getting a recording next time," but as he settled back into the crook of your shoulder, his pride was clearly losing the battle against his need for more cuddles. His face found its home back in the soft valley of your chest, his nose nuzzling against your skin as he let out a long, shaky sigh of pure contentment. You were his anchor, his heated blanket, and his favorite place in the world all rolled into one.

"Satoru," you murmured as you combed your fingers through his hair, occasionally pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "Come on, giant baby. You actually have places to be today. You need to get up."

A low protesting groan rumbled. "No," he muffled into your skin. “I’ve been struck by a curse that makes my limbs weigh ten tons. The only way to survive is to stay right here."

"I'm serious," you laughed, feeling his lips trail a lazy path along your breasts. "The strongest can't be defeated by a duvet."

"Watch me," he countered, his grip tightening.

He was being slick, using his sheer size to pin you down in a way that made it impossible for you to move without dragging him with you. He shifted his head just enough to peek up at you.

"Tell you what," his voice dropping into a velvety, manipulative purr. "Since you’re so convinced I’m some kind of... chainsaw in my sleep. I’m going to give you a golden opportunity. A scientific study, if you will."

He closed his eyes again, his cheek squishing against your breast as he exhaled a puff of warm air.

"If I’m really snoring, you can record me. It’ll probably just prove that you’re delusional and that I sleep like a silent, graceful angel... but let’s test that theory again, yeah? For science."

He let out a long, dramatic sigh of contentment, nuzzling even deeper into your chest, trying to merge his dna with yours.

"Five more minutes," he added, though it sounded more like a prayer than a promise. "And if I don't snore, you owe me a very thorough apology for slandering my good name. Maybe one involving this lying mouth of yours..."

His voice trailed off into a soft exhale, his grip on you tightening just for a second as he drifted back into the hazy dreamscape where the only thing that mattered was the woman in his arms.

You watched him for a moment, the way he looked younger, softer, and entirely human. Despite the teasing, you knew the truth: the weight of the world usually rested on his shoulders and his brain never truly stopped processing the infinite amount of information. For him to fall this deeply into the eepy abyss wasn't just a luxury; it was a rare, hard won necessity.

You let out a soft, defeated sigh, your heart swelling with protectiveness that outweighed your desire to be punctual. You weren't going to reach for your phone to record him. You weren't going to nudge him again.

Instead, you adjusted the duvet, pulling it higher around his bare shoulders to seal in the heat.

You shifted your head, resting your nose against his hairline and breathing in the scent of him. You closed your eyes and drifted back into sleep.

This time, he slept like a silent, graceful angel in your arms.

I think I might be obsessed about him getting a proper sleep because I can’t… I’m currently stuck in a migraine loop because of insomnia. He needs to sleep I need to sleep and I hope you’re getting enough sleep my dear reader<3

[d0llskisses]

Gojo Satoru.5 more minutes

He sleeps so well in your arms that he even snores a little. But he doesn’t believe that.

Satoru couldn't remember the last time he had truly melted into unconsciousness like this. Usually, sleep for him was a shallow necessity, often interrupted by the weight of being the world’s strongest. But last night had caused an anomaly. The friction, the heat, and the desperate sex you two had acted as an anchor, dragging him down from his lonely pedestal into a state of pure exhaustion.

He was dead to the world, buried beneath a heavy duvet and the even heavier comfort of your warmth.

He was currently a dead weight against you. His head was nestled comfortably on your chest, his face pressed so close that with every rise of your breath, your nipple grazed his upper lip and the dip of his cupid’s bow, a ticklish reminder of the skin to skin contact he craved. He looked less like the strongest sorcerer and more like a fallen angel, vulnerable and warm.

Then you woke up to a sound that felt entirely out of place for a man of his stature. It was a soft snore. It wasn't the roaring kind of a snore but a consistent, buzzy little sound that vibrated against your skin. You couldn't help the quiet laughter that shook your chest, your fingers instinctively finding their way into his soft snowy hair. He didn't even flinch; he was gone to the world.

When the morning light finally filtered through the blinds, Satoru began the agonizingly slow process of returning to consciousness.

He let out a muffled groan against your skin. The sound was like a kittenish protest against the concept of consciousness. His throat felt like a desert; his mouth had been hanging slightly open for hours, drying out his lips. He tried to blink, but his eyes felt heavy, weighted down and stinging by the depth of his slumber. With a groan, he finally peeled his face away from the warmth of your breast. He propped himself up on one shaky elbow.

The sight was comical. The cheek that had been pressed against your breast was a vivid, healthy pink. His hair was a literal bird’s nest, sticking up at impossible angles. He looked less like a god and more like a very large, very confused white cat. He looked so soft and pouty.

He was so beautiful.

"God," he rasped. His morning voice made you feel a tingling sensation in your chest. He rubbed a palm over his face, looking like a teenager who had slept through three alarms. "I don't... I don't think I’ve ever slept like that. I feel like I was in the clouds. Best sleep of my entire life, seriously. You’re like a human sedative, babe."

He leaned back in, intending to nuzzle into the crook of your neck to reclaim his warmth, but you let out a dramatic, weary sigh.

"I’m glad one of us got some rest," you teased, your voice dripping with fake exhaustion.

Satoru paused, his nose hovering just above your collarbone. He pulled back just an inch, one eye squinting open to look at you with confusion. "What’s that supposed to mean? You were out like a light when I checked…” Then a smug, sleepy smirk formed on his lips. “Was I... too much for you last night?"

"No," you lied smoothly, stroking his cheek. "You started a symphony. Honestly, Satoru, I didn't know someone could make that much noise through their nose. It was like sleeping next to a chainsaw."

Silence fell over the room. Satoru sat up fully, the sheet pooling at his waist, exposing his broad, naked chest. He stared at you, his brain trying to process the blow to his ego. He, the god of the jujutsu sorcery, was accused of something as mundane and un-sexy as snoring.

Silence stretched between you. He stared at you, his expression blank, processing the accusation as if you’d just told him the sky was neon green.

"You're lying," he murmured flatly, though there was a hint of a pout forming.

"No, I'm not. You were really snoring, baby." You giggled.

"Nah," he waved a hand dismissively, falling back onto the pillows with a dramatic thump and pulling you close to him. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin. "That’s a total lie. Satoru Gojo does not snore. I’m far too elegant for that. You’re just trying to humble me because I was soooo good last night."

"Believe what you want," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his broad, warm shoulders. "But my ears are still ringing."

He grumbled something under his breath about "getting a recording next time," but as he settled back into the crook of your shoulder, his pride was clearly losing the battle against his need for more cuddles. His face found its home back in the soft valley of your chest, his nose nuzzling against your skin as he let out a long, shaky sigh of pure contentment. You were his anchor, his heated blanket, and his favorite place in the world all rolled into one.

"Satoru," you murmured as you combed your fingers through his hair, occasionally pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "Come on, giant baby. You actually have places to be today. You need to get up."

A low protesting groan rumbled. "No," he muffled into your skin. “I’ve been struck by a curse that makes my limbs weigh ten tons. The only way to survive is to stay right here."

"I'm serious," you laughed, feeling his lips trail a lazy path along your breasts. "The strongest can't be defeated by a duvet."

"Watch me," he countered, his grip tightening.

He was being slick, using his sheer size to pin you down in a way that made it impossible for you to move without dragging him with you. He shifted his head just enough to peek up at you.

"Tell you what," his voice dropping into a velvety, manipulative purr. "Since you’re so convinced I’m some kind of... chainsaw in my sleep. I’m going to give you a golden opportunity. A scientific study, if you will."

He closed his eyes again, his cheek squishing against your breast as he exhaled a puff of warm air.

"If I’m really snoring, you can record me. It’ll probably just prove that you’re delusional and that I sleep like a silent, graceful angel... but let’s test that theory again, yeah? For science."

He let out a long, dramatic sigh of contentment, nuzzling even deeper into your chest, trying to merge his dna with yours.

"Five more minutes," he added, though it sounded more like a prayer than a promise. "And if I don't snore, you owe me a very thorough apology for slandering my good name. Maybe one involving this lying mouth of yours..."

His voice trailed off into a soft exhale, his grip on you tightening just for a second as he drifted back into the hazy dreamscape where the only thing that mattered was the woman in his arms.

You watched him for a moment, the way he looked younger, softer, and entirely human. Despite the teasing, you knew the truth: the weight of the world usually rested on his shoulders and his brain never truly stopped processing the infinite amount of information. For him to fall this deeply into the eepy abyss wasn't just a luxury; it was a rare, hard won necessity.

You let out a soft, defeated sigh, your heart swelling with protectiveness that outweighed your desire to be punctual. You weren't going to reach for your phone to record him. You weren't going to nudge him again.

Instead, you adjusted the duvet, pulling it higher around his bare shoulders to seal in the heat.

You shifted your head, resting your nose against his hairline and breathing in the scent of him. You closed your eyes and drifted back into sleep.

This time, he slept like a silent, graceful angel in your arms.

I think I might be obsessed about him getting a proper sleep because I can’t… I’m currently stuck in a migraine loop because of insomnia. He needs to sleep I need to sleep and I hope you’re getting enough sleep my dear reader<3

[d0llskisses]

Nanami Kento.Little Black Dress

A real man isn’t afraid to kneel in front of his woman.

The evening air in Tokyo was crisp, carrying the scent of rain and expensive cologne. Nanami Kento was a man of precision, and tonight was no exception. He looked every bit the gentleman in his suit, his presence commanding yet grounding. Beside him, you were in a black mini dress that clung to every curve, ending precariously high on your thighs. It made you feel electric, especially with your fiancé’s occasional, heavy lidded glances downward that betrayed his otherwise stoic composure.

As you walked toward the restaurant, a discreet, Michelin-starred establishment tucked away from the roar of the city, your hand was tucked firmly into the crook of his arm. You could feel the solid, rhythmic shift of his muscles beneath the fine fabric of his blazer, a silent reminder of the strength he usually kept restrained.

Then the click-clack sound of your heels suddenly faltered. You felt a sharp, restrictive tug at your right ankle. Looking down, you saw the delicate gold chain of your anklet had snagged on your heel’s strap, cinching tight against your skin. You stopped, biting your lip. The dress was far too short to risk a deep bend in the middle of a public sidewalk, and the balance required to fix it one handed while leaning on your fiancé was a recipe for a wardrobe malfunction.

Before you could even voice your problem, the weight on your arm disappeared.

Kento didn’t need an explanation, he lived in the details. And he didn't hesitate. With grace, he dropped to one knee on the pavement. The movement was fluid, practiced, and utterly devoid of self consciousness. To him, there was no crowd, no "fine dining" etiquette to uphold. There was only you and a problem that needed his intervention.

"Don't move," he murmured, his voice a low, melodic vibration that seemed to travel straight up your legs. You let out a shaky breath, your hand instinctively resting on his shoulder for balance.

As he reached out, his fingers were large but incredibly nimble, working the clasp with a jeweler’s focus. He hovered over the snag, his blonde hair brushing against the soft skin of your knee as he leaned in to see the tangled links. The sensation sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the evening breeze.

His focus was absolute. You watched the top of his head. Because of the height difference, his face was level with your thigh. Every time he exhaled, the warm, steady puff of his breath ghosted over your bare skin, making your toes curl in your heels. He worked the thin gold chain with surgical precision, his fingertips grazing the curve of your ankle. Every touch felt deliberate, a silent claim. When the knot proved stubborn, he shifted closer, his broad shoulder pressing momentarily against your knee to steady you.

Then, he did something that made your breath hitch.

As the chain finally came free, he didn't immediately stand. Instead, he pressed a lingering, warm kiss to the soft skin just above your kneecap, then another one slightly below your inner thigh. It was a very romantic gesture of worship that made you almost melt on the sidewalk.

"There," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Perfectly restored."

He stood up in one smooth motion, his hand immediately finding yours and lacing your fingers together. His grip was firm, pulling you back into his orbit. You let out a shaky, melodic giggle, the adrenaline of his touch making your chest feel tight.

"My hero," you teased softly. Standing on your tiptoes, you pulled him down by his lapel and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to his cheek.

When you pulled away, a vivid smudge of your lipstick remained against his cheek.

"Oh, wait," you whispered, reaching up with your thumb to wipe away the evidence. "I got you."

Just as your thumb brushed his cheek, Kento’s hand shot up, his fingers encircling your wrist with a gentle but unbreakable grip. He tilted his head away, a small, uncharacteristic smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes, usually so stoic behind his signature frames, flashed with a simmering heat.

"Leave it," he murmured softly, his gaze dropping to your lips, his thumb stroking the pulse point in your wrist. "I don't mind the world knowing I'm spoken for.”

"Kento baby, we're going into a very serious restaurant," you protested, though your smile betrayed you. "People will see."

"Let them look," he replied, his voice warm with his love and respect for you. He brought your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles while his gaze remained locked on yours. "I want them to know exactly how my evening started. And I want you to remember exactly how it’s going to end.”

He didn't wipe it off. He led you into the restaurant with that lipstick mark shining like a trophy on his cheek, his stride confident, leaving you aching for the end of the dessert course before the appetizers had even arrived.

[d0llskisses]

Nanami Kento.Little Black Dress

A real man isn’t afraid to kneel in front of his woman.

The evening air in Tokyo was crisp, carrying the scent of rain and expensive cologne. Nanami Kento was a man of precision, and tonight was no exception. He looked every bit the gentleman in his suit, his presence commanding yet grounding. Beside him, you were in a black mini dress that clung to every curve, ending precariously high on your thighs. It made you feel electric, especially with your fiancé’s occasional, heavy lidded glances downward that betrayed his otherwise stoic composure.

As you walked toward the restaurant, a discreet, Michelin-starred establishment tucked away from the roar of the city, your hand was tucked firmly into the crook of his arm. You could feel the solid, rhythmic shift of his muscles beneath the fine fabric of his blazer, a silent reminder of the strength he usually kept restrained.

Then the click-clack sound of your heels suddenly faltered. You felt a sharp, restrictive tug at your right ankle. Looking down, you saw the delicate gold chain of your anklet had snagged on your heel’s strap, cinching tight against your skin. You stopped, biting your lip. The dress was far too short to risk a deep bend in the middle of a public sidewalk, and the balance required to fix it one handed while leaning on your fiancé was a recipe for a wardrobe malfunction.

Before you could even voice your problem, the weight on your arm disappeared.

Kento didn’t need an explanation, he lived in the details. And he didn't hesitate. With grace, he dropped to one knee on the pavement. The movement was fluid, practiced, and utterly devoid of self consciousness. To him, there was no crowd, no "fine dining" etiquette to uphold. There was only you and a problem that needed his intervention.

"Don't move," he murmured, his voice a low, melodic vibration that seemed to travel straight up your legs. You let out a shaky breath, your hand instinctively resting on his shoulder for balance.

As he reached out, his fingers were large but incredibly nimble, working the clasp with a jeweler’s focus. He hovered over the snag, his blonde hair brushing against the soft skin of your knee as he leaned in to see the tangled links. The sensation sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the evening breeze.

His focus was absolute. You watched the top of his head. Because of the height difference, his face was level with your thigh. Every time he exhaled, the warm, steady puff of his breath ghosted over your bare skin, making your toes curl in your heels. He worked the thin gold chain with surgical precision, his fingertips grazing the curve of your ankle. Every touch felt deliberate, a silent claim. When the knot proved stubborn, he shifted closer, his broad shoulder pressing momentarily against your knee to steady you.

Then, he did something that made your breath hitch.

As the chain finally came free, he didn't immediately stand. Instead, he pressed a lingering, warm kiss to the soft skin just above your kneecap, then another one slightly below your inner thigh. It was a very romantic gesture of worship that made you almost melt on the sidewalk.

"There," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Perfectly restored."

He stood up in one smooth motion, his hand immediately finding yours and lacing your fingers together. His grip was firm, pulling you back into his orbit. You let out a shaky, melodic giggle, the adrenaline of his touch making your chest feel tight.

"My hero," you teased softly. Standing on your tiptoes, you pulled him down by his lapel and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to his cheek.

When you pulled away, a vivid smudge of your lipstick remained against his cheek.

"Oh, wait," you whispered, reaching up with your thumb to wipe away the evidence. "I got you."

Just as your thumb brushed his cheek, Kento’s hand shot up, his fingers encircling your wrist with a gentle but unbreakable grip. He tilted his head away, a small, uncharacteristic smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes, usually so stoic behind his signature frames, flashed with a simmering heat.

"Leave it," he murmured softly, his gaze dropping to your lips, his thumb stroking the pulse point in your wrist. "I don't mind the world knowing I'm spoken for.”

"Kento baby, we're going into a very serious restaurant," you protested, though your smile betrayed you. "People will see."

"Let them look," he replied, his voice warm with his love and respect for you. He brought your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles while his gaze remained locked on yours. "I want them to know exactly how my evening started. And I want you to remember exactly how it’s going to end.”

He didn't wipe it off. He led you into the restaurant with that lipstick mark shining like a trophy on his cheek, his stride confident, leaving you aching for the end of the dessert course before the appetizers had even arrived.

[d0llskisses]

Why are they making our sweet Gojo Satoru in angsts an asshole? I know it’s fiction, and no one is obligated to stick strictly to canon. Writers can explore whatever they enjoy, and that’s completely fine. But seeing him written unnecessarily cruel and rude towards his partner feels so forced. Yes he can be teasing and provocative but he wouldn’t deliberately hurt his partner’s feelings and make them feel insecure. No he’s not that kind of mean. Seeing him like that feels so out of character. That role belongs to N*oya not Satoru. Jokes aside, please think about it. No one really does this to Nanami for example. People usually stick closer to his actual personality. With Satoru, I’d rather see the depth exists in his character. I want to see him yearn, try his best, completely in remorse, deeply in love, falling out of love, hiding his true feelings behind a silly carefree mask, provoking his partner to get a reaction etc. but not hurt or cheat on them and be so smug and careless about it… it’s just too shallow. He is a really complex and well written character, at least I’d like to see his complexity reflected in AUs too.

[d0llskisses]

JJK Men.A warm welcome

They caught you while humping his pillow. (Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Choso Kamo)

Fem reader. +18. Smut. Face sitting. P in v. Unprotected sex. Fingering. Masturbating. Sweet talking. Humiliation.

2.7k words

Gojo Satoru

You felt like a horny teenager trying to masturbate for the first time. Even though you were ashamed of what you were doing, you kept doing it.

You rubbed your pathetic, damp folds against his pillow. You were holding your phone, looking at a lewd photo he'd sent you earlier, while you were fucking his pillow.

It was embarrassing, but Satoru had been away for so long that you missed him terribly. It all happened simply because you buried your face in his pillow. His scent clung to the pillow, mockingly reminding you of his absence.

The edge of the pillow was damp with your essence. You were going to put it in the washing machine before he came home anyway. Right now, you were just taking out the frustrating tension caused by your longing for him on the pillow. Imagining it was his bulge instead of his pillow.

A soft moan escaped your lips each time the soft fabric of his pillow brushed against your throbbing clit.

You were so focused on your handsome boyfriend's photo on the phone that you couldn't hear or see anything. Even your dear boyfriend Satoru, leaning against the doorframe, grinning cunningly with a big bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hand.

“Satoru…” a soft moan of his name escaped from your lips.

“Yes baby?”

You threw the phone aside in panic, pulled the pillow from between your thighs, and covered your bare lower body with it. Where did he come from? He wasn’t supposed to be here this early.

“Fuck-“

“No, no… please don’t stop. I don’t want to interrupt your fun. Keep going, I'll just watch you.” That sarcastic, teasing voice made your shame even more unbearable. You felt utterly humiliated.

You buried your face in your hands, consumed by burning shame. Both your pillows were different colors, and you couldn't lie and say it was yours. You'd been caught fucking his pillow like a depserate slut.

You heard his footsteps slowly approaching. He put the bouquet aside, and sat on the edge of the bed.

He grabbed your wrists and gently removed your hands away from your face. He gently pressed his lips on yours, his tongue slipped past your lips and kissed you deeply.

Satoru Gojo would never be so gentle after witnessing a scene like that. He wasn’t anyway.

He pushed you back onto your stomach and placed the pillow covering your lower body between your legs. A little whimper fell out of your lips.

“Satoru…” You whined as he grabbed your ass and pressed you further on his pillow.

“You were very enthusiastic about it. You missed me that much? This pussy can’t even go a day without me huh?” He purred into your ear. His voice was burning through your skin.

“Ride it. Smear your scent on it baby c’mon.” He gave your ass a stinging smack, drawing a delightful moan out of your lips.

You hesitantly started to grind yourself against his pillow again. His eyes were narrowed cunningly, watching you hump his pillow. You avoided eye contact with him. He cupped your chin and turned your face towards him.

“Why are you looking away? You were drooling on my photo earlier. Now you can do it while looking at me.” His voice sounded annoyingly innocent. You were furious. If you weren't so humiliated, you would have rubbed your cunt against his face instead of his pillow and taught him a lesson.

Your eyes drifted to his lips; they were so soft and red, so kissable, so sitable. You began grinding harder against the pillow between your legs, the fabric slightly burning your sensitive clit. Your mouth was slightly parted with pleasure.

His eyes never left you for a moment. He watched, like a hungry hawk, the circling movements of your hips on his, the way your hair fell across your face, and how your soft skin began to sweat.

He couldn't possibly be jealous of a mere pillow.

He was somehow.

He yanked the messy pillow out between your trembling thighs and put it on his back before placing his head down on it. With a swift movement, he grabbed you by your legs and pulled you onto his face. It's as if your minds are connected, he brought you to exactly the position you wanted to be in.

“I don’t want your sweet taste to go to waste, baby. Sit on my face, I bet I can make you feel better than that pillow.” He purred against your dripping hole before giving it a long, deep lick.

He let out a low groan as your arousal filled his tastebuds. “Fuck- mmm delicious…” Every stroke of his skilled tongue made your hips writhe with pleasure. His tongue felt so soothing after the harsh friction against his pillow made you sensitive.

He wasn’t eating you out, he was devouring your pussy like a starving man. Each lewd slurp and moan against your fluttering walls brought you closer to the edge. You had put all your weight on his face. You were rubbing your cunt against his face as if you were humping that pillow.

He was suffocating a little, but he derived a masochistic pleasure from it. He would gladly die between your legs; it would be an honorable death for him.

You were bouncing slightly on his face; your orgasm was very close. You held on tightly to the headboard. The wet, messy slurping and lapping sounds of his mouth was dizzying.

“Toru- fuck cumming!” Your hips stuttered against his face when you finally came. He drank and swallowed every drop happily.

He held you by your hips and lifted you slowly from his face. Messy and glistening with your cum.

“Now it’s time for you to ride my cock.”

Geto Suguru

He let out a weary sigh after entering the apartment. He untied his hair and let it fall down his shoulders; his head ached. He wanted to take a shower, snuggle into your warm arms, bury his face in your bosom and fall asleep.

Judging by the clock, you should already be asleep. But a soft sound coming from the bedroom proved otherwise. He slowly made his way towards your bedroom, not wanting to wake you if you were asleep. However, the increasing sounds of deep breathing and the rustling of the sheets as he approached indicated that you weren't asleep.

When he slowly opened the door, he froze at the sight before him. He was faced with a completely pornographic scene. Your back was turned to the door; you hadn't heard or seen him come in. You were wearing his t-shirt, which was many times too big for you, your lower body was completely naked, and his pillow was between your legs. You had your hips raised like a cat, rocking back and forth on his pillow.

With each lift of your hips, your fluids of pleasure dripped onto the pillow in a thin line. For a moment, he forgot the plane of his surroundings, even his own self consciousness faded from his mind. He simply stared, mesmerized, at your obscene image. A wicked grin spread across his face.

He approached the bed with careful and silent steps. You continued masturbating, your face buried in the sheets, unaware of his arrival.

You suddenly felt his weight on your back and let out a startled scream. A deep giggle escaped his chest. “Shh, it’s me baby.” He buried his face in your neck and inhaled your scent.

“My, my… I even bought you some nice toys so you wouldn't get bored while I was away but it seems you've chosen to be a little bit perverted tonight~” he murmured against your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

"Suguru…" you groaned. You felt extremely ashamed. You wished you could erase your existence for a moment. His hips pressed against yours, trapping you between the pillow and his body without putting his full weight on you. His clothed bulge brushed against your ass, drawing little moans out of your lips.

“Don't be shy, sweetheart. It was the hottest thing I've ever seen. If I'd known you missed me this much, I would have come sooner. You know I'd never leave you alone and needy.” His whispers were so sweet and caring while he pulled his pants and boxers down to his knees.

He grabbed his shaft and pumped a few times before gently rubbing the tip against your folds. He groaned softly when he felt how soaked and warm you got by humping his pillow.

“It's very thoughtful of you to prepare yourself for me, dove. So wet and ready, all for me yeah?” He purred before sliding himself in your wet warmth. You let out a shaky whimper when you felt his cock stretching you out slowly.

Oh no, you tightened around his cock as if you’re not tight already. It made him roll his eyes back with pleasure.

“How can you get tighter each time even though I’ve fucked you countless times, pretty doll…” He almost whined before stuffing you completely with his length. Oh those sweet nicknames he used were the complete opposite of his actions right now.

His hands slipped inside your (his) t-shirt and cupped your breasts, squeezing them lightly. His pubic hair brushed against your ass, making you arch your back like a needy cat. He leaned even closer, his chest touching your back.

Him pulling his cock out and then quickly thrust it back in with force caused your clit to rub against the pillow under you. You screamed his name with pleasure because of the friction. He had set a fast and intense pace, thrusting in and out of you while causing a friction between his pillow and your clit. The sounds of skin slapping against skin bounced on the bedroom walls.

He pinched your nipples and kissed your cheeks as he fucked you senseless from behind. You were dizzy with pleasure. All you could think about was him. You buried your face onto the mattress.

“Suguru~ I’m gonna-“ your voice muffled.

“I know baby I know…” He whispered gently against your ear. Your tight walls squeezed around him so hard while having an orgasm he had to pull out quickly and cum all over your ass.

“F-fuck… it’s your fault that I came this early.” He grunted and pulled the cum stained pillow under you and tossed it aside.

He started to pump his cock, slicked with your essence, in his fist, trying to make himself ready again.

“Turn around, baby. I’m not gonna let you go yet.”

Choso Kamo

His heart was beating so fast at the sounds he heard that he thought he was having a heart attack.

He never expected this from you. It never even crossed his mind that you would cheat on him. He loved you very much and trusted you completely. You couldn't possibly be doing this to him, could you?

The bed creaked and you were making the same noises you made while you were under him, drowning in pleasure.

He was standing anxiously in front of the bedroom door, afraid of what he would see when he went inside. What if, instead of cheating on him, you were actually struggling with a bad guy? What if you were in danger?

Who was he trying to fool? He knew you well enough to know that you were moaning with pleasure, not pain.

The thoughts began to gnaw at him; he had to put a stop to it. You shouldn't have acted ruthlessly to him.

He quickly opened the door with a bang and barged inside.

“Ahh~ Choso-“ Your moans were cut off by the banging of the door.

Oh.

You froze like a deer in headlights. You looked at your lover in panic before shame could consume your entire body.

He, just like you, was frozen in place. His eyes darted between your naked body, his pillow under your legs, and that one sex video you had filmed together, which was still playing on your laptop.

His mind went blank. He must have died from the panic he experienced outside the bedroom door just moments ago; what he was seeing now didn't seem real to him.

In a moment of foolishness, he slammed the door shut again without saying anything.

You were going to die of shame. Choso just caught you hornily using his pillow. You quickly pulled the pillow from under your aching cunt that was ripped off from an orgasm. You were about to get out of bed to get dressed.

Choso opened the door again. You were still naked. Still alone and not cheating on him. You were getting out of bed, the panties you'd thrown aside were in your hand, ready to put them on.

“Choso I thought you wouldn’t come tonight,” you explained nervously, as you bent down to wear your panties again.

“Don’t.” He breathed out, his voice slightly hoarse. You stopped and looked up at him. He approached you slowly. He felt so angry at himself for thinking you were cheating on him. His lovely woman would never do such a thing.

“Don’t wear that, please.” He murmured as he stopped in front of you. Your panties fell down from your hand. You stood completely naked in front of him. He gently lifted one hand to graze your cheekbone.

“You know… I’ve never watched the video after we recorded it.” He got even closer, you could feel his warm breath on your lips.

He pressed his lips on yours and pushed you back onto the mattress, settling himself in between your legs as he kissed you.

“Let’s watch it together.” He whispered between kisses.

Now he was naked, just like you. He leaned back comfortably with the pillow you'd just humped, and took you into his lap, with your back leaned against his chest.

His fingers were stroking your clit at an extremely slow torturing pace. And your hand was gripping his length, slowly jerking him off. The video wasn’t too long actually, only 4 minutes because your camera just recorded a small part. There was no beginning and no end, just him and you fucking passionately.

You leaned your head back on his shoulder and closed your eyes. The video was almost over, maybe he would finally put his dick inside you when it was finished.

But when the video ended, he restarted the video. You looked back at the screen in surprise. This time, he was circling his fingers against your clit faster and more vigorously.

“Cho-mmph“ He cut you off by capturing your lips in a wet, messy kiss. He bucked his cock into your palm, needing you to grip it tighter.

You pulled away from the kiss but his mouth was still hovered over yours. Your hand moved up and down skillfully on his shaft, you teased the tip, collecting his precum on your forefinger before putting it in between your lips.

That made him press his fingers even harder against you.

And when the video came to an end again, he restarted it. Again.

This time, he pushed two fingers inside, gently grazing your gummy walls, pumping his fingers in and out of your sopping cunt. His free hand went up to grope your breast, gently pinching your nipple and giving your soft mound a gentle massage while he fucked you with his fingers.

You were going to lose your mind.

He was doing this on purpose.

You stroked his cock firmly and faster than before. You both touched each other with a passion about to explode. You gripped his twitching cock even tighter as his fingers skillfully thrust inside you.

He pulled his fingers out of your squelching cunt just as you were about to cum.

“Choso…” you mewled and complained, your walls fluttering with a need to release desperately. You pulled your hand away from his cock and dug your fingertips on his forearms with need.

And when the video stopped, he opened the laptop cam instead of restarting the video. He aligned his cock against your dripping entrance.

“Let’s make another video but this time we’ll make it longer so you can please yourself properly whenever I’m away.” He whispered against your ear before harshly thrusting inside of you and pressing the record button.

[d0llskisses]

Shoko Ieiri.Perfume

Fem reader. You are sick of the uncertainty, she is scared of commitment. She is a coward but oh how she loved you… tw: she’s your s*tuationship.

Suggestive. Bittersweet angst.

1.8k words

Dark gray clouds covering the sky, heavy with the threat of a storm that refused to break. You sat by the window, eating your takeout. Below, the city whispered a constant, frantic rhythm of tires on asphalt and distant sirens. The life was rushing forward in all its flawed, stubborn beauty.

But yours had stalled.

Your eyes searched for a certain car down there, scanning every passing car. It almost became a habit for you. You knew that she wouldn’t come but your heart ached for her. Even a little glimpse of her car would be enough. Just proof that she was somewhere close.

Your appetite was long gone, you couldn’t eat the rest of the food. Eventually, you gave up and stood, carrying the half-eaten food to the kitchen. You set the food down on the counter, letting out a tired sigh. This wasn’t you. You loved cooking. You loved the precision of it. She used to lean against the counter, watching you work, offering lazy compliments that made your chest warm. You were her “incredible chef,” she’d say, half teasing, half sincere. Yet here you were, ordering some fast food that didn’t even make you full. It was meaningless to cook if you weren’t making it for two. So you stopped cooking meals, eating alone wouldn’t make sense if Ieiri wasn’t there eating with you.

You slowly walked toward your bedroom, you didn’t bother turning on the lights. The darkness had become familiar, gentle, almost merciful.

When you stepped into your bedroom, a black bottle on the dresser caught your eye. It was her perfume. You just stared at it for a while. She must have forgotten it or maybe she’d left it on purpose. The thought made your chest tighten. You crossed the room and picked the bottle up. You pulled the cap off. You didn’t hesitate, a soft spray bloomed against your wrist.

The scent unfurled instantly, sharp and bold. You lifted your wrist to your nose, eyes fluttering close as you inhaled.

There she was.

It was stronger on you than it ever was on her. On your skin, it felt almost overwhelming, too dark, too assertive. But on her… it had settled into something intoxicating. It clung to her collarbones, to the fabric of her coat, to the hollow of her throat when you leaned in close to kiss her neck. Your hand trembled slightly as you lowered your wrist. The sweetness that had once felt intoxicating now felt suffocating. A humorless laugh left your lips. Of course she’d leave something behind. Something easy. Something harmless. A bottle instead of answers.

What were you doing? Clinging to a bottle like a hopeless fool. To scraps. To a woman who would kiss you like you were hers but dodge every question that asked if you actually were. Your jaw tightened. With a sharp motion, you hurled the perfume onto the bed. It landed against the sheets with a soft thud.

You were tired of this. Tired of pretending that being her in-between didn’t hurt. This wasn’t casual, it never had been. You knew her to the core and she knew you just as deeply. You loved each other, in the quiet ways, in the instinctive ways. In the way she showed up without being asked. In the way she touched you.

But love, apparently, wasn’t enough. Wasn’t the same as certainty.

You stormed into the bathroom and twisted the shower knob too far. Heat flooded the small space. You took all of your clothes off and stepped under the running hot water. Scrubbed at your wrist, furious at how stubborn the scent was. The water ran until your skin felt raw. By the time you stepped out, the scent was gone. Replaced by soap and something hollow. You wrapped a towel around yourself and pushed the bathroom door open.

You don’t remember the lights were on. The air laced with cigarette smoke, thick and familiar. Your gaze lifted, she was there by the window. Of course she would come unannounced like this. She always does this. She didn’t speak right away. Eyes settled on you, your wet hair, flushed skin, towel wrapped around your body tight. There was something quiet and heavy in her expression. The room felt smaller.

“Why are you here?” Your voice was sharp but a little shaky, betraying how much her presence unbalanced you.

“Because I missed you,” she said softly, her voice low and intimate. “Missed you more than I should.” Then she dropped the cigarette in the ashtray you left by the window for her, the ember hissing against the tray. Shoko took slow steps closer, her hand lifted, brushing a stray strand of damp hair from your face. Your chest tightened. Every instinct screamed at you to push her away, to put space between you and the pull of her, but your arms wouldn’t move.

Before you could think, her lips were on yours. Tentative at first, a soft press, a confession. You tried to step back, tried to break the kiss, but you froze. Your lips betrayed you, parting to let her in, letting yourself be pulled into the storm you both knew was coming.

Her hands moved to the small of your back, steadying you, pressing you closer. You wrapped your arms around her neck, finally giving in, letting the longing and the frustration and the love you’d both been holding so tightly spill into the kiss. In the press of her hands against your back, the towel around your waist slipped, leaving you bare before her. Shoko didn’t look away. She leaned in, lips brushing along your jaw, her eyes dark and steady, taking in every inch of you. The warmth of her hands pressed against your back made it impossible to retreat, impossible to care about anything but the moment.

She guided you toward the bed with a quiet authority you couldn’t resist. She hovered just above you, eyes dark and steady, lips parting in that smile she always wore when she knew exactly the effect she had on you. Your fingers traced the lines of her arms, memorizing her again in the half-light. Your hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, and she moaned softly into your mouth, a sound that made your chest ache and your knees weaken. Your breaths were ragged against each other, lips and tongues tangling in a desperate, needy rhythm. Shoko’s hands slid down your sides, over your hips, and you shivered as her touch ignited a fire deep inside you. You tugged at her, pressing closer, and in a moment of urgent recklessness, your hands found the delicate fabric of her pantyhose. Fingers worked at the waistband, tearing it just enough to let skin meet skin…

Morning light filtered through the blinds, soft and warm, spilling across the disheveled sheets. You opened your eyes and blinked against the brightness. The bed felt empty. Shoko had left. Like she always did.

The memories of last night lingered on your mind. Her weight against you, her lips, her hands, the way the world had narrowed to only the two of you. You slowly sat up and stretched your arms. Your gaze fell on the dresser. The black perfume bottle was gone, taken with her. The scent lingered faintly in the corners of the room, a ghost of her presence.

But something caught your eye. You let out a chuckle and sighed.

This time, she left her makeup pouch behind. Another reminder that she always left a piece of herself with you, even in her absence. Somehow, that was enough. For now.

[d0llskisses]

Masterlist

Gojo Satoru

Melting wall

5 more minutes

Geto Suguru

Nanami Kento

Little black dress

Choso Kamo

Ryomen Sukuna

Toji Fushiguro

Higuruma Hiromi

Shoko Ieiri

Perfume

Multiple

A warm welcome

[d0llskisses]

Gojo Satoru.Melting wall

Fem Reader. Arranged marriage husband Satoru is amazed by how you carried a whole life inside of you for 9 months. He’s too amazed that he eats you out until he loses his mind.

+18. Fingering. Oral sex (f receiving). Mentions of pregnancy complications. Body worshipping. Smut.

a/n: I’m brainrotted with girl dad Gojo. I hope it’s not too long…

2.7k words

You hadn’t expected anything when you agreed to this marriage. After all, this wasn’t a marriage born from love. It was an arrangement between clans, political, strategic, inevitable. You agreed to be a Gojo without wanting anything in return because resisting would’ve gained you nothing. You just hoped that you’d at least get along with your husband Gojo Satoru. You were certain the thick ice wall between you wouldn’t break easily.

You were wrong.

The wedding went pretty smoothly. A simple ceremony that officially made you a Gojo. You didn’t expect to do anything on your wedding night either. You assumed it would be awkward since you two barely know each other.

You were wrong again.

Satoru made love to you that night, slow, attentive and unexpectedly tender. Or it was your hormones romanticizing it but you were sure that giving your first to Satoru that night ignited a flame in front of that ice wall between you. It didn’t shatter of course.

But it began to melt.

Satoru Gojo was a very busy man. He had important duties to fulfill, so you didn’t see him around so often. Yet he enjoyed spending his free times with you, trying to know you better. Taking you out, introducing you to his students, buying you gifts just because they reminded him of you.

And at nights, he explored your body as if he was learning something sacred. He was genuine, so close. It confused you because you thought he would have other priorities to spend his free time with. You even expected him to sleep around secretly, find other women who would match his tastes.

But once again, you were wrong.

He wouldn’t stain his name with mindless infidelity. He preferred to get close to you because he found you attractive. Interesting. Worth knowing.

And maybe worth loving.

The wall was melting in front of your eyes, you were feeling more close to him each day.

Maybe you were beginning to feel something for him too.

You remembered the day when you told him that your period was late. Of course the clan wanted heirs but you didn’t expect this to happen so soon. Anxiety crept into your chest, your future suddenly shifting beneath your feet.

All those noisy spiraling thoughts vanished with his reassuring kiss against your lips.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured against your lips. “We’ll be great parents. I’ll always be by your side. Trust me, okay?” He whispered against your lips softly.

You never expected to find a soft spot inside the heart of the smug, arrogant bastard Satoru Gojo.

But you did.

The wall was still there.

Yet beneath your feet, a small pool of melted ice reminded you how much had already changed.

Your pregnancy was far from easy. You were throwing up more than five times a day, your heart rate would spike to 120 without warning. Your rhythm turned irregular. That made your blood pressure fluctuate sometimes and you were always aching.

And Satoru was always there for you. Day and night. He even postponed missions to chase your strange cravings. He never once complained. He never even sighed. Never made you feel like a burden. He never left you alone. If he couldn’t stay, he assigned someone to care for you. It was strange that how naturally this domestic life fit him. Even though it was arranged.

Still, fear lingered in his eyes. You were having a tough, difficult pregnancy and he was terrified of losing you. Unlike the clan elders, he didn’t see you as a vessel just to birth an heir. You became someone very dear to him. Some of the elders complained about that the first born would be a girl. Satoru couldn’t have care less. His little princess would be the next head of the clan. And if anyone wanted her hand one day, they would become a Gojo, not the other way around. The possessiveness in him burned for his unborn child already.

The first time he held his tiny little baby girl, he cried just like his daughter. The way he looked at you afterward caused a shiver run down your spine. Your heart felt unbearably warm in your chest. Was it because exhaustion? Hormones? Or you were falling for him?

The ice wall thinned so much that you could see him clearly now.

And he could see you.

Two months passed. Motherhood still felt new but you were learning. Fatherhood made Satoru softer and somehow even more insufferable in the most charming way. He gave the baby’s chubby cheeks a big kiss and chuckled before handing her to you. You smiled, taking her into your arms and guiding her to nurse her. He sat beside you on the bed, watching quietly. The soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp illuminated your figure. Your hair slightly messy. Your nightdress loose against your skin. To him, you looked ethereal, so soft. His gaze drifted downward, to your chest was fuller now. The sight stirred something deep inside him. You noticed and lifted a brow, a small smirk tugged at your lips.

“She’s so lucky,” He sighed dramatically. “Having all that to herself.”

“You can’t have it Satoru, it’s for the baby.” You said softly.

“I know… but a tiny sip wouldn’t hurt- ouch.” You rolled your eyes and scoffed before you pinched his cheek. He giggled shamelessly and glanced at your daughter, sleeping peacefully against your breast. Mouth still latched on your nipple but no longer sucking.

“Let me take her to the crib.” He whispered and carefully took the baby from your arms. He tiptoed to not to make any sound, he went to the nursery and placed a soft kiss on her forehead before placing her down. When he returned, he closed the door quietly. You looked at him with that sweet gaze that made his stomach flip.

“Hey.” He said softly.

“Hi, do I know you?” You said. He rolled his eyes and plopped down beside you on the bed. The night dress barely concealed your breasts, he could see your perked nipples under that soft fabric.

Naturally, your body had changed. You had gained weight. Your curves were more defined and you looked more softer. There was something more warmer about you, more riper. That sight of you made something primal stir inside him. He wanted to bury himself in you.

He leaned down and pressed his lips on your shoulder, inhaling slowly as if committing your scent to memory. His nose brushed up the curve of your neck, warm breath trailing over your skin as he gently eased you onto your back and settled over you.

“It’s been a while.” He murmured against your neck, lightly kissing your neck while he carefully caressed your arms.

You closed your eyes and nodded. “Yeah.”

You were no longer bleeding and your stitches were fully healed. It was okay to have sex now, physically it was safe.

But emotionally, you felt exposed.

Your body changed a lot, you were plumper. Stretch marks bloomed across your stomach and inner thighs like faded brushstrokes. You weren’t sure how he would see you. His lips traveled upward, pressing gentle kisses on your cheeks.

“Can I make you feel good?” He whispered, his lips brushing closer to yours. There was almost something vulnerable in his tone. Heat pooled low in your stomach. “Please.” He pleaded, voice muffled against your mouth. You nodded and deepened the kiss. Allowing him to explore this new version of you.

He let out a quiet sound into the kiss and slightly pulled his lips away. He pressed his forehead against yours and his fingers gently moved to remove your night dress. He pulled down the dress gently and tossed it aside. He pulled away to look at your body.

And he just got so hard that he got afraid of cumming right on spot after seeing you. His breath hitched as he observed your body like a hungry hawk. You felt crushed under his gaze and turned your head away. His fingertips lightly brushed over your breasts, squeezing them ever so lightly before sliding down the dip of your waist. He gently traced lower to your abdomen. The stretch marks were healing but they were still a bit red.

“Does it hurt when I touch them?” He whispered curiously.

“N-no…” You breathed out. His touch didn’t hurt of course. It felt a little ticklish. You looked down at his hand. His fingers tracing each mark, memorizing them. For him, this wasn’t something flawed, this was a miracle. A life bloomed inside of you, you carried and protected it while bearing the hardships. You went through a lot and this was your body after bringing a new life to the world. He was amazed by your strength.

He slowly trailed downward, his lips leaving warm, deliberate kisses along your collarbone before finding your breasts. The moment his mouth touched your tender skin, your breath hitched. A quiet sound escaped you as he lingered there, not hurried, not careless. His hands cradled you gently, thumbs brushing over sensitive peaks as if reacquainting himself with you. He didn’t rush anything. Then he moved lower. His lips followed the slope of your ribs, over the soft curve of your stomach. You felt impossibly exposed beneath him, every nerve ending awake. When he reached the faint red lines scattered across your skin, he paused. Slowly, gently brushing his lips against your stretch marks. Kissing each one of them deliberately.

His fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties and slowly pulled them down without pulling his lips away from your stomach. Exposed your dripping cunt to cool air. His eyes lifted to yours immediately, searching for even the smallest sign of discomfort.

He found none.

Only want.

Only heat.

A sly smirk curved his lips as he finally pulled away, taking in the sight of you spread beneath him. The way your body responded to him, the way you were already wet, already aching. His mouth watered when he saw your aching cunt. He lowered himself. His tongue dragged up your slick folds in one long, deliberate stroke, slow and heavy, tasting the proof of your desire. You let out a mewl and arched your back slightly. He let out a low hum and dived back in. His lips closing on your clit, sucking gently, then tracing it with a teasing, soft lick, driving a shiver straight through you. Your legs trembled, and you found yourself gripping his hair lightly, holding him close.

He was annoyingly slow, giving your clenching pussy light licks that made you crave for more. You wanted more pressure. You whimpered, pressing your hips up slightly, silently begging him for more.

He let out a low chuckle, lips still teasing, before finally giving you the slightest increase in pressure. His tongue danced against your folds, slowly circling on your clit with the tip of his tongue, drawing out every shiver, every gasp. Your hands tightened in his hair as your back arched higher, your body trembling with need. The teasing was maddening, every soft lick made your nerves coil tighter, every pause like fire against your skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against you, voice husky, barely above a whisper. You gasped, gripping him closer, your hips rocking slightly against his face. “S-Satoru… more…”

He hummed low, approving, before letting his mouth work with more intention, finding just the right pressure to make you ache and crave him even more. Every move was slow, precise, worshipful, yet charged with hunger.

Your hips pressed harder against him, clit bumping against his nose, craving more, and he obliged. Slowly his fingers slid inside you, made you moan in the most perfect way possible, teasing you in perfect rhythm with the movement of his mouth. Every soft lick combined with the stretch of his fingers sent shivers spiraling through your body. You let out a sharp gasp, arching into him, hands tangling in his hair and burying his face deeper into your cunt as he hummed low, lips never leaving your clit.

“You taste s’good.” He murmured against you, voice husky, muffled and breathless.

You trembled beneath him, mewling and pleading for more. His fingers dipped knuckles deep inside. Hitting the sweet spots that made your eyes roll back with pleasure. “Ah- mmh~”

Your moan went directly into his core. A quiet, strained groan left him as his hips shifted.

Even through the haze of pleasure, you felt it, the subtle drag of him against the mattress, his bulge pressing insistently against the bed as he ground himself down for relief. He was trying to stay composed, trying to focus entirely on you, but his restraint was thinning.

“Fuck- so good…” he grunted.

Your fingers tightened in his hair.

“Satoru-”

He hummed against you, the vibration making your back arch sharply. Lewd sounds of slurping and your squelching cunt created a beautiful orchestra with your moans.

His hips rolled again against the sheets, a low moan slipping past his lips. The friction clearly wasn’t enough, he wanted to bury his cock in your pussy but he endured it. Because right now, your pleasure mattered more.

“Cum for me,” he murmured roughly. “Let me taste you.”

Your legs shook violently around his head as the tension finally snapped, heat crashing through you in waves. Your back arched off the bed, a broken cry falling from your lips as you clung to him. Gushing against his mouth, making a mess on his face. He happily drank your juices. He didn’t stop immediately. He guided you through it, slower now, softer, licking off everything you offered to him. Cleaning you up.

He finally lifted his head, breathing hard in between your legs. His gaze met yours. He looked at you with a loving look. And in that look, the last trace of that wall between you dissolved completely.

[play-now-my-lord]

everything i like about people's behavior is human nature and everything i don't like about people's behavior is capitalist brainwashing. this political economy shit is easy

[mjalti]

we have to outrun the horrors (man made) and the terrors (organic). Quickly, a poem. A poem!